The Problem With Potions
by xXNew-Years-ReVoLuTiOnXx
Summary: Title Subject to Change. Rylie O'Day is starting her first year at Hogwarts, and she's not very happy about it. But will something or someONE change her mind? Rated T for some language right now, but it'll probably be changed to M later for some erotic scenes. I tried to stay congruent with the movies, but please bear with me. And I'll try to update every week. Please R&R!


_A/N: This story is supposed to take place just after Harry Potter turns eleven and begins his journey at Hogwarts. And while I tried to follow the storyline as closely as possible, I did bend the rules a little bit. Now, most of it will be explained as you read, but the first and biggest problem that some of you will notice is that Rylie, while almost seventeen years old and nearly a legal wizard by Brittish standards, is just now starting her first year. This is because she is from Scotland, and in my world the wizarding schools there are run more like the American systems (Where she also spent some time abroad with her family, hence the fact her accent isn't terribly thick.). So in the school she was at before she transferred, she would have been in the equivilant of her Freshman year of high school. And though reviews are welcomed, I will not respond to flames. I WILL, however, take in constructive critisicm. So if you have nothing nice to say in a way that will ultimately help me, please don't say anything at all. Thanks, and enjoy!_

Chapter One - Crowds

Rylie O'Day wasn't one for crowds. She never had been, and probably never would; yet here she was, stuck with a group of children all at least a foot shorter then her, murmuring in hushed tones while she sulked in the back like a petulant toddler. Now, she knew she should have better manners, but she just couldn't help it. Her parents were downright rotten for forcing her to stoop this low. It was her first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was horribly embarrassing to be standing amongst these younglings who were barely eleven while she herself was hanging in the middle of her sixteenth year. Her folks had fought tooth and nail to get around the British laws for witches her age, but they'd only managed to just get her admitted, and no matter how often Rylie voiced her opinion, she couldn't convince them otherwise. So here she was, lodged in this predicament as an elderly witch with graying hair herded them together on a staircase before a great set of wooden doors.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," she began. "Now, in a few moments you will pass through these doors and join your classmates. But before you can take your seats, you must be sorted into your houses."

"Houses?" Rylie murmured under her breath, straing up at the witch with a confused expression. A few of the children around her shared glances and a few scattered smiles, so apparently they knew what she was talking about. Rylie, on the other hand, was completely lost. At her old school in Scotland all the students mingled together, and were grouped into segregated dorms based on gender and their area of study. Rylie had been in a dorm with a few other girls who wanted to be Potions Masters, just like her. But here it seemed was a different matter. She tuned back in to listen.

"They are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin."

At the mention of the last house, a blond haired boy standing just a few feet on front of Rylie glanced at his neighbors, two pudgy boys with short-cropped brunette hair. A smug smile spread across the blond's face, and the older teen didn't like the look of it. She could already guess he would be sorted into the Slytherin house; he reminded her of a rat snake she'd found a few years ago, snacking on her pheasants in the barn.

"While you're here," the elderly witch continued, "Your house will be like your family. Your triumphs will earn you points. Any rule-breaking and you will lose points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points wins the house cup."

Before she could continue, Rylie heard the sound of a frog chirping seconds before a young boy near the front shoved his way through the crowd, crying out the name Trevor. The teen sighed and leaned back against a support pillar with a roll of her emerald eyes. as the witch towering above the boy gave him a withering glance. Rylie heard him mutter an apology, and the group shifted to let him sink back into their midst.

"The sorting cermony will begin momentarily," she finally concluded, letting her hawk-like gaze rake over the little group before she turned and strode off, her spine straight as a board. Not even a minute later the same blond boy standing in front of Rylie piped up.

"So it's true then," he called to the front. "what they're saying on the train. Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

Another boy standing up at the very front snapped his head around at the other's words, his jet-black hair flopping over the glasses perched on his pale nose. Of course, his complexion was tanned compared to the little blond snip, who was still talking like he owned the place as his chest puffed out like a rooster strutting through the henhouse. The other younglings started up murmuring around them, all saying the same name: Harry Potter. Rylie wondered if this was the same boy who'd supposedly defeated that dark wizard ten years ago. Whispers of the story had even floated around to Rylie's neck of the woods.

"This is Crabbe and Goyle," the blond introduced, motioning to his two cronies as they flanked him like bow-legged bulldogs. "And I'm Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

A snort echoed down to Rylie's spot in the back, and she watched Malfoy round on a little redhead with a haughty glare.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" He spat. "I've no need to ask yours. Red hair, and a hand-me-down robe? You must be a Weasley."

The Weasley boy frowned down at his shoes as Malfoy turned his attention back to the Potter boy.

"You'll find out some wizarding families are better than others," he told him. "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held his hand out to the dark-haired boy, a smug grin plastered on his pasty face. In return Potter looked down at it like it was poisoned.

"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," he replied politely, throwing Malfoy off his game as he stared at him in confusion. Aparently not many turned down an offer from a Malfoy.

But before he could say anything else the elderly witch tapped him on the shoulder with a tightly-bound scroll, giving him the same look she'd given the frog boy until he slunk off with his groupies right on his heels.

"We're ready for you now," she said to the group. "Follow me."

The wide doors opened of their own accord and Rylie followed the group as they in turn followed on the witch's heels into a large hall filled with hundreds of children. Rylie O'Day definitely wasn't one for crowds, and already she was dreading the coming year.


End file.
